Welcome to Earth
by ChronicallyinFlaming
Summary: Written for dragonkink meme. Bulma and Yamcha convince Vegeta when he first arrives on Earth to kinda changes his mind about the whole "destroy all humans" thing. Minorly AU. Bulma/Yamcha/Vegeta.


**"Welcome to Earth."**

**Prompt:**

**Just because I can and this pairing (threesome) is hot. The prompt is "Welcome to Earth." Bulma and Yamcha seduce Vegeta when he first arrives on Earth and he kinda changes his mind about the whole "destroy all humans" thing. How this happens is up to you. Obviously this requires a bit of AU work since Yamcha died right away and Bulma was over at Master Roshi's place when the battle was going on. So just be creative and write some awesome smut.**

The Fill:

* * *

><p>Their first view of a real Saiyan, one from outer space and properly raised as a Saiyan, came as the pod crashed down and a small, pointy-haired man was thrown out. The burned, damaged ship was barely holding together, and creaked alarmingly. Any second, any second it would probably explode and kill everyone in a five hundred mile radius. Yep. That sounded about right. The owner of the pod continued to tumble head over ass, rolling down the small gentle hill in the backyard of Capsule Corp. His greetings to Earth were soft mutters of profanity.<p>

Standing in the back of the house, on the patio furniture, the humans looked at him trying and failing to roll over.

"Bulma. I told you not to shoot that gun thing at him—"

Bulma ignored him, immediately 'oooo-ing' over the strange round spaceship, stepping over the twitching alien to begin prodding at the mechanics. One white glove pawed at the grass, and at the scientist's foot. She kicked it aside. The Saiyan stopped moving.

So it fell to a horrified, scared Yamcha to actually check on the health of their extraterrestrial guest.

Gently, he prodded the guy, was it a guy, or were Saiyan girls just built weirdly, with the tip of his boot. His actions were met with a groan that had the orange-clad man jumping into the air and about to hop into the ship himself.

"Look at this! I think this is a cappuccino machine, Yamcha! So civilized. Wonder if he can make a good cup of coffee? Oh, no. a TV? Radio?"

"Hey, Bulma. I think he's hurt."

"Ooow. Wow. There's a picture thing. Aw, look, he took pictures of the planets he's been on. How quant. Look at this big guy right here, waving at the camera. The little one looks all pissed. Oh. Oh, no. No. Dear god."

"He's bleeding all over the place. There's a huge bump on his head. He's not moving, Bulma."

"Good. Look at some of these pictures! Look at what he's doing to those bug people! Oh, oh god, he's _eating them-!"_

Yamcha stared down at the alien, at his small form half-curled in pain, his face creased with it, the stained white glove reaching out, reaching out…for help.

There was only one thing to do. The one rule that he and the other fighters tended to follow. A golden rule that usually worked out okay. 'What would Goku do?'

Goku probably wouldn't stamp down with a foot on the guy's neck and crush it. So Yamcha didn't either. The big guy would have scooped, despite any terror he was facing, the short guy up and carried him inside to heal his wounds. Would have listened to what he had to say with a compassionate expression and understood little of what he was saying. Would have shared food with him.

The tall, tanned man stared down at the Saiyan. Neither of them moved.

"-There's more planets here! More pictures than my parent's _vacation photos_!"

"So what should we do with him?"

"The big one was wearing someone guts as a necklace."

The Saiyan looked up, eyes as black and expressive as any human's. His battered mouth opened long, and Yamcha leaned in close. "What's wrong?"

"Obviously, Yamcha, he's _hurt."_

"Oh, don't even act like you care. You were the one to shoot him down with that torpedo gun thing."

"Yamcha! Shut up!"

"…Kill all of you bastard Earthlings..."

"So, this is the Saiyan that we're supposed to be so freaked out about?" The blue-haired woman stared down at him, nose scrunched and perfectly pink mouth pressed into a sneer. "I expected better."

* * *

><p>Vegeta resurfaced briefly from unconsciousness, shoved out of the deep sleep of recuperation just long enough to feel the burns coating his upper body, the sound of his inhale and exhale, the thrum of his heartbeat. The annoying squawking of voices in his ears. Smell of antiseptic.<p>

"I mean, you know. Big scary alien coming to get us. And all it took was one bomb to mess him up? _Over-exag-ger-ation._

"He's as tall as I am, for god's sake. Hardly taller than Krillin. That's just sad. Plus those clothes."

"Well, yeah. He was in an explosion."

"What kind of superior fighting race goes around dressed like that? Like some half-assed superhero. Or wrestler. In good shape though, I've give him that."

"Don't mess with him like that. Don't yank stuff. Bulma. Bulma. I think you pulled some of his skin off."

Through the bandages, Vegeta could only manage a weak scream that turned into a hiss as lightening-blue sparks spasmed through his brain. The old cycle of agony that swept in and out like a tide. The ceiling above was white.

"Ew. It's like, burnt into the armor."

"Don't tug at the guy. Just let him sleep."

* * *

><p>Bulma decided, out of the goodness of her heart and for sake of her own sanity and comfort, to ignore the fact that Yamcha had spent the last two days at the Saiyan's bedside. Don't even let your mind head in that direction. That way laid madness.<p>

All of the others had come to stare and poke at the alien, leaving behind crumbs and questions. 'Is that really the Saiyan?'

'He doesn't look to dangerous, now, does he?'

'He's so short!'

Which meant she had nothing to do besides poke around his spaceship some more, and walk again and again past the Saiyan's room. The one he now informally was sharing with Yamcha. She had to swallow her outrage at the sight of her boyfriend (her's!) sleeping uncomfortably on a chair by the alien. He would wake up with a stiff neck he wouldn't complain about, and would wipe the monster's face down with a wet towel. Then help her mother change the bloody, pus coated bandages, dry heaving without a word of disgust.

The alien had hardly opened his eyes so far. Beady dead eyes, they were. Looking deep into Bulma's eyes with all the emotion that a crow might show. She wasn't shiny enough for him. At least Yamcha got a suspicious glare.

Though, he really didn't deserve it. He even brought the Saiyan clothes, "Uh, it's a little long on you, but, well, when you get better…" Maybe he could sense something about the guy, and wanted to act kind to their new alien overlord.

Either way, Bulma wanted nothing to do with him. Several times she would go into the room, stare at the grey-beneath-the-tan face hidden partially by the air mask. Look carefully at the pillows under his head, and wonder how strong he really was in that state. Where did her mother and the nurses keep their needles and pain meds? How important, really, was an IV?

Yamcha hadn't seen those terrible images of slaughter and arguably cannibalism. The man ate sentient beings. He would go planet to planet and wipe out all life. And this was the person whom Yamcha would tenderly (tenderly, she swore on her life) hold out a straw for and tell him to suck. One day she would find him pushing the Saiyan's hair back from his brow, confessing his love and the alien would blink twice for yes in agreement.

Wasn't even all that cute…and now he was helpless and Yamcha was into strong, confident…women. That was his type. Some lady would come up to him, begin blatantly flirting while he squirmed and blushed, until Bulma grabbed his ear and dragged him away.

The Saiyan did admittedly have girly soft hand hidden beneath his gloves. And his hair, when it was being washed and brushed (yes, Yamcha even did that too, along with sponge baths), was fairly long. But there was still lots of muscle and a penis beneath the bandages Yamcha would lovingly wrap around the wounds.

She finally confronted him as he wandered out of the room, with an empty tub in his hands. "What are you doing?"

"Wha—oh. I dunno. I just feel kinda bad for the guy." A lame shrug following this limp statement."He's healing pretty fast though. Like Goku. Pretty soon he'll be walking. And talking."

"And killing. All of us!"

"Now, you don't know that."

Bulma followed him through the hallways of the lab/new hospital until he was filling the tub with warm water, grabbing a bar of soap, and armed himself with a sponge. She made herself sparse after that. Her blood pressure needed none of that.

When the Saiyan was finally up and about, she made sure that the others were there to strike him down. Goku was finally back from Other World, and all prepared to beat him back into the dirt. The others had grim sets to their faces for all the cracks about his height, and even Gohan was underfoot and frightened.

Yamcha helped him from the bed, not minding the struggling attempts to push him away. "So, what's your name?"

"Vegeta."

Bulma clutched her stomach and laughed while the others looked at her like she was insane. "Hahaha."

It had been funny, unexpected, but mostly she just wanted to get a rise from the monster. If he attacked her, he would immediately be put down like the wild animal he was. Beneath the hospital gown that thankfully had a robe thrown over to hide the slit in the back that would have blinded her, he was lean and scarred. You could see the rips and gouges in his skin trembling as he glared at her and tried to contain his rage.

"Ha! Vegeta! That's hilarious! Is that your real name? Or a stage name?"

His collarbone was nearly poking through his skin. She wanted to rip it out.

"'Prince.' Hahaha."

"Vegeta, huh?" Goku reached out with one hand. "Nice to metcha."

His face had twisted, and a growl had come out, "Kakarrotte—" before the Saiyan nearly collapsed into Yamcha's arms.

"Poor guy. Weak as a kitten."

"Man, this is the scary Saiyan?"

"Ha."

Her mother rushed in with the pain meds that her daughter needed as well, and would give him two pills twice a day and called him Veggie while bringing him several trays of food. Yamcha began to help the Saiyan with his physical therapy, making him _stronger._ Bulma had taken lately to chewing on aspirin, and using a squeeze ball for stress relief until she had crippling pain in both her hands.

* * *

><p>"Where is," the Saiyan paused. "The weakling human?"<p>

"His name is Yamcha. And you should be nicer to him."

"The nurse." He sneered, at the pale woman, who in turned made a face right back at him.

"Yeah, that's right. I was going to bury you where you crashed, but he saved you."

Now Vegeta allowed himself to look surprised. "I didn't think anyone on this planet had that much sense."

His nostrils were flaring. "You smell like smoke." And motor oil. And rage. And something similar to the sweet smell that the human male with the longish hair wore.

Which, in turn, made him grow angry. Had those two been…what did humans do, what had those people on that chattering box the blonde squinty woman watched? Rutting and touching, stroking. That's what those two had been doing, rather than fetching their better the soft sweet food they served on this planet that he was somewhat partial to. And the meat and greens put between slices of bread.

The woman's hands were angry, and that only made him more furious. Too busy touching and rutting like the filthy animals they were. Rather than fetching him food or helping train with him. Touching. Petting each other's too-long, ridiculous hair. Especially the human male. What warrior needed hair so long?

He should be here, that long-haired fool, fetching Vegeta another drink, feeding his food, wiping the sweat off his brow with a cool clothes while the Saiyan growled and lifted the heavy weight another time. Another time. Another time. Until the pink itchy skin was a dark red and the human would rub at the aching muscles until they stopped twitching.

His body was just beginning to become his again. Help, if only partially, by that human. And now this other human, with stupidly bright hair that could be seen a mile away and disturbingly _blue_ eyes. At least the other man had normal coloring.

"Are you listening to me, your highness!"

So impertinent. And those blue eyes were disconcerting. Really blue and much too close. She smelled sweeter than the male.

"I'll kill every single person on this planet! Wipe this disgusting mudball clean!"

"Yeah." She blew air out in a sigh, from a pair of annoyingly distracting lips. "I can totally see why Yamcha likes you so very much."

"'Likes?'"

"Oh yeah, he's cra-aaazy about you. Madly in love. I guess. You two are quite a pair." The woman threw her hands up, disgusted at everyone. Vegeta understood what that was like. Thankfully, he'd killed Nappa before getting here. Imagine that disgrace of a Saiyan seeing his Prince on the bed like this, at the mercy of those so much weaker than him.

At the first chance he got, as soon as he was capable to leaving, he would destroy this planet. They would not know what hit them until it was too late.

First he would kill all the fighters, anyone who might try to challenge him. Then the woman, slowly, and painfully. Then…maybe the long-haired man. Or perhaps he would keep him as a pet? Someone who would bow his head and fetch him snacks, bending down before him with his long hair hanging in his face as he begged his master for forgiveness for some crime, on his knees and at Prince Vegeta's mercy. 'Please.' Words whispered past bloody bruised lips. 'Please.' Opening that battered mouth further, one hand in his dark hair.

'Prince Vegeta. Your Highness.'

Vegeta's tail twitched and he rewrapped it around his waist. He leaned into the pillow, pulled the unnecessary blankets past his wait, closing his eyes until the woman cursed him and stomped away. Until the male human came by with a tub of pleasantly warm water for his daily sponge bath.

* * *

><p>Yamcha supposed Bulma had snapped after he'd told her he'd rather help Vegeta with his physical therapy than go out to dinner. It wasn't that he didn't want a nice meal, but he was afraid to leave Vegeta alone. With his thoughts. With his plotting.<p>

What else was there, he almost told Bulma, than to try and turn him to the good side? It was that or kill him. And Bulma was so down for that it wasn't funny.

When he would leave Vegeta's room, he would scoop out the halls for any signs of Bulma who probably had fantasies about pulling the plug on the guy. Hell, she'd had those before he'd regained consciousness and began speaking. If Vegeta died now, all signs would point towards Bulma being responsible. The guy was still bedridden, and while definitely stronger than most people would be with their skin half-burned off, far from in the best condition.

She would make it look like an accident. Something that no one could prove.

He rotated Vegeta's limbs and rubbed lotion on any signs of cracking skin. Something which before would had made him puke on his own shoes. Now he could look at the hurt skin without any twinge. After the weeks together, he could check Vegeta's strangely pale ass for bedsores without blushing or screaming in humiliation. They both no longer did that.

"Human?"

It was still strange to look down this alien, at the tanned body that was stronger than his own. Let alone touching it. Grabbing his legs and moving him around. Rubbing lotion on his slim thighs. Push the tail out of his way that he'd later have to take a brush to in order to fix any tangles in the short animal fur. Having to scrub him in-between those legs. That part that was currently…wha

"AHHHHH!"

"AAhhhh!"

Bulma shoved open the door. "Ah-HAH!

"Oh. Oh god. You two really are doing it! Oh my god."

"No! No, it's not my fault!" Yamcha tripped over a cord to Vegeta's electric blanket and fell headfirst into a chair.

"There's something wrong with both of you. You two deserve each other. Really, I hope you're happy together."

"No! No!"

Vegeta was eerily quiet. Sitting up and clutching the blankets with white hands. Staring ahead at nothing.

"Look. It wasn't anything. Let's all pretend it didn't happen. Please?"

"I…don't think I can do that. You, nearly sitting on his erection like that…"

"Stop! Just stop! It wasn't my fault."

"So, how long has this been going on? A week, two?"

"No, no!"

"It's the part where you chose him over me that upsets and disappoints me, Yamcha. Him. A cannibal alien mass murderer that wants to kill everyone here."

"He's…not a cannibal!"

"And you're banging this sociopath. Under my roof. And pretending to be my boyfriend during this time."

"I never touched him…sexually."

"You're a real piece of work."

"No, don't act like that! Please. Please."

Vegeta began howling, wordlessly, like an animal. Grabbing out for something to pull him from the bed, and his power level rose until Yamcha winced and began wondering if he could run to get help. He tumbled from the bed to fall with another shriek. "This is the worse planet I've ever had the misfortune to land on!"

"Oh, it's not that bad."

"Shut up! Weak human female!"

"Bastard! House wrecker!"

"I'll destroy your house, human!"

"Was that a sexual thing! Because you're disgusting."

"I would never touch you!"

"Calm down, everyone! Please!"

He ran to help Vegeta off the ground and to keep space between the Saiyan and his girlfriend. Both looked ready to commit murder. His genius plan of having everyone be happy and holding hands was crumbling around him.

"Let's all sit down and discuss this like sensible adults. Okay? Okay?"

Finally, glaring, Vegeta and Bulma both settled down in their respective seats. "Fine."

"Bulma. You need to calm down."

"He's a murderer! How dare you pick his side!"

"And Vegeta, whatever…I don't know much about your culture. But here, we tend not to be too crazy about accidentally seeing another dude's—"

"_Erection_! Just say it!"

Yamcha had to put his head in his hands.

"Shut up! Both of you, shut up! As soon as I am able, I will kill both of you."

"I told you, we should have just left him to die! He came here to kill everyone!"

"He won't hurt anyone! Just be nice to him! Don't give him an excuse!"

"God, you sound like some abused wife. 'Oh, he's a nice guy when he's not hitting me. Deep down.' Jeez."

"Why can't we all get along and be friends?"

"Oh, and fuckbuddies? Is that what you're saying? Yeah, Yamcha, let's just invite everyone over and have a big orgy party. Make the world a better place." She rolled her eyes while Vegeta made a disturbed face at her.

The tall man rubbed his forehead. "I'm not saying to have an orgy."

"Yes, you are. You want us all to get along and to have your cake and eat it too."

"What?"

"Shut up. Veggie."

"Don't use that name!"

"Or what? What? You'll blow my boyfriend some more!"

"I don't know what that means! But I'll make sure to blow him up!"

"Oh, I'm sure."

Vegeta made a strangled gesture, as though clamping a hand around Bulma's imaginary throat. Yamcha gingerly patted his shoulder. Bulma probably wanted to murder both of them with one of Yamcha's fancy baseball bats.

"Look, Vegg-Vegeta. Just take it easy. Don't kill anyone. You don't need to kill anyone."

"I think I do."

Bulma was giving him a look that was a mixture of, yeah right whatyougonnado and not if I get to you first. "You can barely walk. Tailed weirdo."

The said tail nearly knocked a vase full of flowers off the side table. It swung through the air heavily and slowly, like a cat's. Like it was plotting. What was going on behind the dark eyes? Besides possibly thoughts of Yamcha doing God knows what. He'd just been trying to help the other guy…not come onto him. Or start an orgy, whatever Bulma said.

Hell, she was the weird sexual one. The one always bringing bizarre stuff into the bedroom. Those toys and oils and paints and role playing with all those scripts he had to memorize. The things she'd made him do. The horrible emasculating things. Comparatively (and not that Yamcha was planning on doing this at all), bringing Vegeta into their bed was much less disturbing. At least the Saiyan would probably put his foot down in regards to making Yamcha do certain things. He'd even be an ally in that situation.

…not that Yamcha was seriously considering it.

He could totally see Bulma being into that though. Banging some snarling alien who was stronger than him, to rub his face in something he'd done. Him on top of her while she threw her head back and moaned in delight, shoving a foot in Yamcha's face while he waited for his turn. He would have to sit at the foot of the bed and watch the clock while they rolled around behind him.

On the other hand, it wasn't like Vegeta was necessarily straight. Hadn't gotten excited for Bulma, now, had he? Yeah. He wasn't threatening to kill Yamcha as much as he was Bulma, either. Yamcha was his favorite. It would be Yamcha on his back, pushing his foot mockingly into Bulma's face and moaning. Oh god, now he was considering it.

He had to fight the urge to bury his finger through his skull and pull his brain out. Obviously, it was a hideous, diseased thing that needed to go. Maybe he could have Bulma make a shiny new robotic brain that would follow her orders without complaint and never think about Vegeta in any sexual manner. Let alone fucking the guy. Let alone being the bottom in their fucking.

Thinking about what position he would be in, ugh, he needed a new brain.

And if anything, shouldn't Vegeta be the one taking it, the catcher to Yamcha the pitcher? The man spent most days on his back anyhow. All he needed was to spread his legs a little, and he was already doing that plenty for Yamcha. And getting hard for him. Really, they were halfway there already. More than he and Bulma had done in some time, too.

Vegeta's penis, once he got over the initial shock, hadn't disturbed him as much as he'd thought it would have. He was okay, still breathing air, unhurt, from seeing the guy getting a stiffy. There was worse. All of this was still better than what Bulma would put him through.

"You evil, little, little man."

"Weakling hag! Get your udders out of me face!"

"Make me!"

Vegeta nearly clawed at her face until Yamcha came between them. "Let's all take it easy." He was smiling.

"Oh, take his side! Take your new lover's side!"

"It's not like that. You ran out before we had a chance to explain. How can you be so angry when you don't even know what happened?"

She gave him a look of wide-eyed blue fury.

"I was helping take care of Vegeta. Like a good person should, take care of their guest. And well, he got a little too happy over the sponge bath."

"Yeah. Just over the sponge bath. Not your hand so close to touching him. Right in my house, you were about to give him a handjob."

"Stop it!"

"That's what we used to do Yamcha! Go to the corner of the lab and mess around! And now you're doing it with," her eyes narrowed on the alien. "_Him."_

"I wasn't doing anything with him. You know, if you were around to help, you'd know this."

"So! This is my fault, because I rightfully hate the murderous sociopath? I made you run to his bloodstained arms?"

"No-That's not what happened! I'm not in his arms!"

Vegeta was looking at them, head doing a windshield wiper thing like he was watching a tennis match. And Bulma was winding back a heavy lob that would crash down on Yamcha's head. When he turned back to the blue-haired woman, he actually winced a little at the expression of pure rage on her face.

"I can't believe you're lying. I see you groping the guy—"

"Cleaning!"

"With his penis practically down your throat-!"

"Oh please! Please! Like you didn't want that! Like you weren't shoving dildos by the dozen in me! Like you didn't have me licking that disgusting strap-on and trying to make me pretend you're Goku!"

"Yamcha!" She was staring at him, horrified, then slowly together, they looked at Vegeta who sat there open-mouthed. They couldn't be sure he was familiar with the exact terms, but it wasn't hard to figure out that pretending at any point Bulma was Goku was a bad thing.

"…and it was not a dozen!"

"It felt like it. You were pretending I was a pen holder with those things."

"Not a dozen. I've never had so many…and it seems like you prefer Vegeta's cock in you than my strap-on!"

"YEAH! YEAH I DO! Who wouldn't!" His hands were carved claws in front of him, and he could feel his ki spiking. Yamcha was so upset he could feel his pulse in his neck that threatened to drown out all the noises in the room and blow out a vein or something. This was it, this was how he was finally going to kick off: a heart attack/stroke caused by his girlfriend. Bulma, in return, looked totally prepared to rip his eyes out and shove them down his throat.

Vegeta was still sitting there, looking almost innocently down at his knees. Uncomfortable. The evil cannibal murdering sociopath or whatever Bulma had called him was feeling uncomfortable around _them._

"Vegeta. I'm sorry. About all this."

"You apologizing to him! _TO HIM!"_

"That you had to witness this. Normally, it's not like this. I hope you give Earth a fair shake. Not all Earthlings are like us. You should really meet Tien. Awesome, honorable guy. And Krillin. Nice guy. You'd like Krillin."

The Saiyan seemed to have lockjaw. And his black eyes were wary and suspicious. It must be so strange to be around weirdoes like him and Bulma, yelling about dildos, screaming because you accidentally popped a boner at the wrong moment. Scary.

"Why doesn't he go off and blow Krillin, not you! Let Krillin have and rehabilitate this freak!"

"Don't call him that!"

"You two deserve each other!"

"Better than you! WAY BETTER THAN YOU!"

"WHAT! THE WAY HE GIVES HEAD!"

They had to pull away from each other.

"God."

"Damn you."

Yamcha turned to knock over a chair with the back of one hand, furious, wanting to punch a hole in the wall, wanting to scream, wanting to leave and never return. Leave Bulma with Vegeta, see how they liked it. Would she nurse him back to health, like he was doing? Hell no.

"Look. Look. Look at me." Reluctantly, the blue eyes that he still loved stared back in an unhappy pretty face. This was Bulma, his girlfriend, whom he'd pretty much grown up with, his first everything. Childhood sweethearts, really. They could get through this.

"What, more bullshit?"

"God. Look, I'm going to help Vegeta over here. You stay, watch. Help. You'll see nothing's going on."

"I have to supervise you two now?"

"Just watch." He found the sponge and went back to the tub, gently running a bar of soap across the Saiyan's shoulders. "See?"

She was making this horrified expression, of narrowed eyes and grimacing mouth. "I see a man giving an alien a sponge bath. Both of them enjoying it far too much. Like something out a gay porno. But with fewer mustaches."

"Help us then, you'll see." He held the sponge out. Bulma took it, rolling her eyes. Vegeta appeared catatonic.

Together, all in different stages of disbelief, they washed the alien. Vegeta leaned forward when necessary, Bulma kept shaking her head, and Yamcha tried to focus on the positive, that at least he wasn't thinking about being on his back for anyone, that she wasn't poisoning anyone, that Vegeta wasn't getting—wha, again?

Bulma shook the sponge in the short fighter's face, shaking droplets of water and soap on his nonresponsive face. "Goddamnit, what's wrong with you!"

"Oh. Vegeta." Now Yamcha was shaking his head.

"Do you have some sick fetish towards sponge baths! This is horrible! Get the hell out of my house and away from my planet!"

"I'll destroy this planet!" His voice was full of gravel. "Everyone on it. Not even your Kakarotte will be strong enough to stop me. That third-rate warrior will be crushed—"

"I don't want to hear about your fantasies. Bad enough I'm seeing your erection. For the second time. _THE SECOND TIME_!"

"Shut up! Do you think I can't kill you, woman? That I can't squash the two of you in one hand, that you live only because I have decided you aren't worth the energy!"

"Oh, we both know why you're doing it. You can't hurt your little pet Yamcha, can you?"

"I'll hurt him right now!"

"OH GOD NO."

"Okay, calm down. Everyone calm down."

"Now you're being sensible, Bulma?"

"Ew. He's getting harder."

Yamcha wanted more than anything to walk away and smash his head against a wall several times. "Yeah. Ignore it. Stop looking, why don't you?"

But then she was laughing, dripping soapy water everywhere. "Oh my god, this is so messed up. I can't believe this. Amazing."

The tall man had to cover Vegeta with the corner of his sheets. The Saiyan nearly shoved him away. "Don't…laugh."

"HahahahAHAHAH—"

"Come on, that's not nice." He was blushing on behalf of the extraterrestrial visitor. It was darkish, and looked like any human male's. Not as scary as it should have been, relatable, just like seeing any of his friends' penises, sure, not great fun and occasionally disturbing depending on whom you were seeing naked (like Krillin…_goddamn _was that weird and unexpected). So long as you ignored the tail…which you couldn't when it was _nudging your side and caressing your ass_—

"Vegeta!"

"This," Bulma was snorting laughter. "Is exactly why we haven't given him a senzu."

"Stop touching me!"

"Hahaha, he liiiikkes you, Yamcha. Why not give him some sugar?"

"And a sandwich," the Saiyan added.

"Move your tail, hey, man, that's not—okay. Cool. Acceptable."

"So, are you the bottom in your relationship? How come you're never on top, Yamcha?"

"Because the people I sleep with are horrible! Not that I'm sleeping with Vegeta. MOVE the tail."

"Oh, Yammy. Just go off and sleep together. Maybe now he'll shut up about destroying the planet?" She shrugged, still giggling.

"That won't save this place." Vegeta's voice was husky. "As soon as I'm able, I'll destroy this disgusting planet." And still his tail tickled along Yamcha's side. Creepily warm. And pliant. Ugh. He would have preferred Bulma's plastic devices.

"Well. At least he's into me. Not you."

That froze Bulma in place. "What?"

"Normally the guys are all into you. Not Vegeta. Prefers me."

"Oh, come on."

"But who wouldn't? Right, Vegeta?"

"You're kidding."

"I definitely prefer you weakling, to the loud obnoxious woman." The way Vegeta practically purred the words sent a shiver down Yamcha's spine. Not a good one, either. His tail ran down Yamcha's lower spine.

"Oh, shut up. Who would want you? No one in their right mind. That's who."

"You sound jealous." At least he could turn the knife, even if it meant that Vegeta would try to sodomize him when they were alone. But, truly, hadn't Bulma still done worse? The paints. The horrible thing with the paints. Better. This was better.

"I don't want to touch Vegeta with a ten-foot-pole!"

Try and play the puppy-dog eyes that made her crumble. "What about me?"

"Considering you have whatever he was carrying, I don't want you in this house anymore without plastic gloves on."

"He's clean. I think. And kind to me. That's important."

"We all know you're a masochist, Yamcha."

"Knock it off. Hey, Vegeta?"

"What?"

"Would you say I'm prettier than Bulma?"

The Saiyan made a disgusted face, but Bulma was immediately pissed, immediately flying at Yamcha claws bared. This time, it was the Saiyan who separate the two of them. His tail was nearly stroking Yamcha's nose.

Vegeta shook his pointy head. "This is just pitiful."

"You are not prettier than me! I don't care what the murderous alien has to say about that."

"Because I'm right."

"You're already getting all attached to him, aren't you?" There was a sickening fiendish light in her eyes, ones that made you inhale and pause to evaluate the situation, to wonder how bad the damage was to be. Oh god.

Her perfect white hand that Yamcha was familiar with in a variety of ways was sliding beneath the sheet. Her grin was terrible to behold.

The alien began screaming before Yamcha had the chance to.

"Let go!"

"Get off him!"

"HA! He's totally getting hard."

"Stop it, Bulma!"

"Oh, yeah, so into you, Yamcha. That's why he's about to ruin the sheets. And more than usual."

"GET OFF ME—" Vegeta looked like a rattled turtle on his back, not quite kicking and clawing at the air, understandably afraid of the hand clutching his not-understandably stiff penis. Just stimulus, Yamcha reminded himself. Yeah. Not his fault. No one knew more about inexplicable arousal despite the danger than he.

"So, have you two gone all the way yet? Tasted Earthling yet?"

"Ugh. Don't give him ideas."

"So you do admit he's a cannibal!"

"Okay! Fine! After you started posting those pictures everywhere, and scared away the nurses!"

"So, Yammy, do you think he'd prefer sticking it in you, or me?"

"Don't you dare!" He didn't know anymore which upset him more, Vegeta screwing Bulma, or Bulma getting screwed by Vegeta. Was there a different, shouldn't he be keeping them apart so his girlfriend wouldn't be groping another guy? Or was he so broken he was getting upset that Vegeta was touching someone else? This was not how he'd expected his life to go. How he wished he could go back in time to warn his younger, naïve innocent self to avoid all blue-haired woman, and to never change with Krillin because you'll develop a complex that Bulma will only mock, and when the alien comes, be nice to him when he goes insane so he doesn't blow up Capsule Corp.

"Oh, I do more than dare. C'mere, Veggie. I never got to have a chance with Goku, so I have to sate my curiosity on Saiyan biology with_ you_."

"Get out of that bed." Yamcha was positively trembling with rage. How dare she shove a metaphorical (but soon to be literal) foot in his face? He was one that that deserved to finally do that. Hadn't he suffered, and changed bandages for it? She had no right to saunter in and hump the injured alien.

The only thing to do was to jump in there on the other side of Vegeta and try to shove Bulma's hands aside. To grasp the shaft in one hand, and work it like it was machinery for a car, or like something out of a porno. He had to slap Bulma's hands aside, then Vegeta's as the Saiyan gibbered for him to stop. Yamcha wished briefly for lotion.

His orgasm was anti-climatic. When his roar settled down to a mewling cry and the sheets were ruined, they just all stared around the room's ceiling and walls. He noticed a spot on the wall that he'd missed before, to dark to be caused by Vegeta's eruption. Bulma cleared her throat.

"So."

"Is that it?" Yamcha asked, mostly rhetorically. Vegeta glared at him balefully. What more could he want?

The blue-haired woman was rubbing her hands together. "So, what, are you going to jerk off while I watch? Or should I get undressed? Is this a quick mutual masturbation thing?

"I've never done anything like this."

"Well, not like I'm an expert either.

The Saiyan blinked, eyes going from one Earthling to another. "Neither have I."

"Sure."

"Right."

"…is there a wet napkin somewhere?"

"Have him clean it off."

"What, how?"

"His mouth." Bulma was leering.

"Oh."

The Saiyan seemed to resign himself, leaning forward to weakly lick and lap at Yamcha's dirtied hand, face neutral. It did nothing to calm him and Bulma down. The woman began biting and nipping at Vegeta's neck, something that deeply upset the Saiyan until Yamcha dove beneath the sheets to help clean off the mess on Vegeta himself, doing now exactly what Bulma had fretted so much about. Ironic. When he tried to point this out, the short man just irritatedly shoved him down again and Bulma was too busy yanking her clothes off while laying down to care.

"Look at these. You like these things."

But for someone who had a pair of nice boobs in his face, the alien was grim. "I have mixed feelings."

"Goddamn you!"

"What am I even supposed, ohmph—"

He leaned across the Saiyan to touch Bulma's unoccupied breast, and did his best to ignore her cackling. His reward was Vegeta rubbing himself under him, against him, and then Yamcha was cupping his cheek and kissing him while Bulma yanked on their hair and demanded that she not be ignored. "I'm not walking away from this without getting to third base."

"You always find a way to worsen the things I love, don't you?"

"Baseball, or Vegeta?"

"…screw off."

"I'm going to screw off your boyfriend's head!"

"No, not fair! How come you get him first!"

Vegeta was literally growling. "Just. One of you humans better do something—"

"Or you'll finish before we really get started?"

"So, um, you two, and I, what, have to watch? No way."

Bulma heaved a sigh. Like he was being such an impatient baby. Then slapped Vegeta's side to release her anger. She was going to make such a great Mom, one day. "You heard him, Veggie. Roll over."

"What, no, I am not the submissive mate!"

"How cute! Even in space they have the sub/dom thing."

"God, Bulma."

"Well, I'm not doing both of you at the same time."

Yamcha shook his head. "I'm not taking it, either. No way. I wanna be the pitcher, just once."

She shrugged at the alien. "You're kinda outvoted here, Veg."

"Two against three."

"This is not a vote! I'm the Prince of all Saiyan's and I do not-"

"Fine. God, do whatever. Just stop ranting."

Yamcha sharply inhaled. He knew what had to be done, for the greater good. He'd done worse, to appease Bulma, and only Bulma. Now he had two whiny, greedy people to make and keep happy. "Okay. Fine."

"You'll be the meat in our delicious sandwich?"

"-Sandwich?"

Now both Yamcha and Bulma had to rub the bridges of their noses for patience.

"Yeah, Vegeta. Sandwich. Of us."

Clarity came to his dark eyes. Oh. "The human male will be in the middle." He seemed to be imaging it all, working out the logistics. The other two waited.

"That is acceptable."

"So glad to please you."

Vegeta shrugged, still unaware of irony. "You should be. Perhaps I won't destroy this planet if you two please me."

"Ooooh, that sound so hot. Say more stuff like that."

"Mmm, my slaves. Pleasure slaves."

"Eh, that's not really—"But then his head was being shoved beneath the sheets again. And maybe that was for the best. Just hold his tongue. Or rather, apply it to something other than talking. Something thick and warm and really, a human-looking penis. His mind would not allow for any metaphors or waxing poetry about spears and rods and weird tastes. It was a penis, and he was trying to swallow it. But Bulma, she wouldn't shut up. Just babbling on and telling Vegeta to go on, all about how hot they were, how they had to service their Highness.

"Now take off your pants, slave."

"Gross. This is creeping me out."

"Mm, you like this, right here? All for you, Prince."

"I guess it was my mistake for jumping into bed with two people so into roleplaying."

He tried to think peaceful thoughts, of baseball and the crack of the bat as he hit another homerun, the roar of the crowd that swallowed you up inside. Normally something that cheered him up in difficult moments, but now was all a disturbing backdrop and soundtrack to the yanking off of the hospital gown and robe by Bulma who then tore off Yamcha's clothes and Vegeta's intruding fingers and someone was gripping his penis with a soft hand. Could have been anyone. Especially when he closed his eyes and listened to his own breathing, and Bulma and Vegeta's bickering over who got what organ. A bloody image of Vegeta holding up an inhuman arm like a tasty rib appeared beneath his eyelids.

"Okay, stick this here."

"…I know that."

"Well, how am I supposed to know?"

"Be quiet. Like the weakling human male."

"He has a name, you know," Yamcha added, voice mumbled by the mattress, trying not to twitch over the hands touching and spreading his ass.

"Yes. Yammy."

"Fuck you_, Veggie_!"

All he got was a grunt. "No, human, you are the one being fucked." Something heavy and warm pressed into him, teasing him.

"Oh god, please, someone, get lotion!"

"Get over here. Lift up. Into it. Yeah. And let me move in front of you."

"Thought you wanted the alien first, Bulma." Her blue hair was blinding him. The tail was running down his spine, before wrapping around his cock and balls, shockingly more intimate than a hand and making Yamcha nearly scream.

Bulma began complaining some more. "Move it. Not fair! You can't get all of him!"

The Saiyan just chuckled and tightened his grip. Reminding Yamcha of those times he'd seen Goku hanging from his tail and swinging from branch to branch. Until his vision became blurry and he was trying not to drool onto Bulma's back because she hated that.

She grabbed and yanked his tail away, making them both groan. "No. You want to touch someone with this weird thing, then you do it me. Oh, nothing to say to that, huh?"

"…let go…"

"Never."

…and how Goku would get all weak when someone grabbed his tail.

"The lotion. Please."

"God, fine." She rolled off the bed, digging through the drawers while Vegeta pressed into him, threatening now more than simply teasing. Bulma's boobs were doing a cute little bounce thing when she slammed and yanked a nearby desk apart. There was a crowd in Yamcha's head, screaming, either terrified, or pleased.

"Here, it's lotion. For his bedsore, so I suppose you two are already intimately acquainted with it."

Vegeta was more patient and willing to accept the limitations of flesh than Bulma with her dildos and refusal to go slow or do anything but just jam it up there and yell at him when he'd scream over how much it hurt. 'It's supposed to feel good!' 'Well it doesn't!' But the Saiyan was gently smearing lotion on his fingers and sliding them in and out, only two fingers at first too, relaxing and preparing him. With Bulma hopping back into bed and her mouth closing and sealing around his erection, it wasn't so bad.

His own hand went to prod and spread Bulma, who was already soaked and practically purred while she sucked his fingers inside that sweet warmth. She pushed herself against him, resting on her knees, looking at him over one white shoulder. It was just like old times, only she was quiet and wasn't doing anything weird to him. For the shortest moment, he forgot all about Vegeta. Until Bulma reached out to grab that damn tail and slide it in-between her legs.

And Vegeta was grabbing his hips, almost lifting him up and reminding Yamcha of how much stronger the Saiyan was. Yamcha spent a full minute thanking Kami and Piccolo and everyone in the whole universe for the creation of lotion. He clawed at the sheets, teeth gritted, listening to the grunts and his girlfriend's complaints that he was going too fast and that she needed a moment to adjust.

Yamcha nearly wept. The tail against his side felt plain bizarre. This entire thing felt bizarre. And painful. And confusing. The thing, Bulma, before him, was normal and sane and understandable. But behind him, it was all fucked up. What would his friends say? Puar wasn't even crazy about Bulma, let alone Vegeta. 'But why, why do you have to take care of him?' Because he didn't know why.

"This," Vegeta was grunting into his ear, making the human remember the sharp teeth that could tear apart the haunches of meat he insisted on eating. "Is not what I expected to happen when I came to this planet."

"None of us expected this, Veggie," Bulma tossed out. "Except maybe Yamcha."

He couldn't even bring forth the words to defend himself. Say something about what a pervert Bulma was, that'll show her. But he was speech impotent, which was a lot better than the other type of impotent. They'd never let him live that one down. The bed squeaked alarmingly beneath them all. Not meant for three people, let alone three people humping each other, two of whom were strong fighters and the other very violent in intimate moments.

The sheets were already getting ripped in Bulma's hands, and this was from the woman who had a hard time getting jars open. Vegeta's hands on his hip felt threatening. Imagine what he could do to him if he got too worked up.

"So, Vegeta?" Her words were becoming slurred and there were little telltale moans in her throat. Normally, this was a point of neared victory for him. "You do this a lot? With, uuh, your little Saiyan friends?"

Vegeta didn't allow himself to make much noise besides manly grunts. "They're all dead, the other Saiyans."

"Still, though, before they died. I hope."

"No, of course not." He sounded like the old pissed alien that didn't know how to eat a sandwich properly, let alone participate in…this. "I never mated with anyone. There was no one worthy.

"…not that you two are worthy either…"

"Hang on. You're a_ virgin_?-Oh god, Yamcha, you're his first."

It might have been funny if they'd all been utterly different people, which in itself would have ruined any irony or humor from the start. He was sweaty and chafing from where the tail was rubbing against him.

"Big diary entry for today. Doesn't that make you feel all magical and warm inside?"

"He is warm inside," Vegeta muttered, making the other two almost wince.

Finally, words bubbled up. "I hate it when you two talk."

"I agree."

"Yeah, everyone keep their traps shut."

And they were capable of such silence, for maybe two minutes-which was pretty good for them. But then Bulma began complaining about her hair being in her face and Vegeta told her to just cut it off for gods', for…

"Hahaha, Vegeta finished first! He loses."

From the way the alien leaned against him, all shaky and boneless, it didn't seem like he'd suffered a defeat. His breathe against Yamcha's back felt nearly as intimate and intruding as what was sliding down his backside and thighs. Hopefully not blood. But it stung badly when Vegeta pulled out. The guy was nearly clinging to him while his tail went back around his waist to Bulma's complaining, and trying to get her off by sliding a sweaty finger between soft damp skin until she howled and kicked him like a cat, and have his own rubbery orgasm that brought relief to finally be done with all this.

Bulma shoved him off her back, complaining about the long hair, with Vegeta agreeing that it needed to be cut to something more manageable. They loomed over him, tracing scars half-heartedly, before shoving him over and trying to lie down on either side of his body. Squashing him while they muttered about the lack of space.

He wondered what time it was, and where Mrs. Briefs could be. If she walked in on them, her or a nurse finally paid and cudgeled enough to come back here; there would be no end to it. Everyone would know within a week, even Gohan and Piccolo. Yet he still couldn't get up and move to lock the door. Everyone was shifting, trying to roll over, avoid feet and elbows and hair.

"Gross. These sheets need to be burned."

"Will one of those machines bring dinner in, soon?"

"I guess one of use should lock the door before someone walks in."

"Get off my tail!"

"Yamcha, why couldn't you put Vegeta in a bigger bed if you two were planning on something like this?"

He couldn't see the alien, but he could imagine the black eyes widening. "Wasthe human_ planning _for this to happen?"

"Bulma…Bulma was the one to shoot down your ship." Because he was just too tired to care anymore.

Vegeta glared at them both over a shoulder, either because he was trying to sleep, or because he hated them both so much for damning him to this. Hopefully he had forgotten all about the dragonballs; Yamcha wasn't willing to bring up the subject. He was pretty sure Vegeta wasn't going to kill them, yet, but why even tempt fate by rubbing the Saiyan's failed plans in his fate.

Of course, all this would go to hell when Bulma would begin ragging on him soon enough. She could never resist rubbing salt into wounds. It was like Yamcha could see right into the future. Like Roshi's fortunetelling sister. But Baba could never see such horror in their future.

"I had a feeling you two were involved."

"Oh, we know you like us, Veggie Dip. Don't even pretend."

"You're better than dealing with Freiza, and the Ginyu Force," he muttered, trying to put his dark head down and sleep. Dreaming of what, Yamcha didn't exactly want to know.

"Who?"


End file.
